Page 76 of God of Monsters

“If you’re completely alone, I guess it is.”

“Sometimes, alone is better.”

“A very alone person would say that.”

“There’s that Viper’s tongue again,” he says, still not bothering to slow his pace.

“Right. I’m sure you’d prefer that I stay quiet and meek, like a good little woman, but I’d sooner scratch my eyeballs out and feed them to the vultures.”

“That’s an option, then?”

“Piss off, Titus. A hungry woman is a dangerous creature. I wouldn’t mess with me.”

He snorts, shaking his head, and if I were capable of shooting flames from my eyes, he’d be a charred piece of meat right now.

He shoves his hand into his pocket and comes to a stop, holding something out for me when I eventually catch up. “Here.”

“What is it?”

With a jerk of his hand, he urges me to take it.

I open the folded cloth and find a piece of meat from the night before.

“Figured you’d be hungry.”

“It’s warm.” I frown down at the proffered food, and as my stomach gets the best of me, I shove the greasy meat into my mouth. I have to stifle a moan on swallowing it.

“Kept it tucked inside my underwear the whole time.”

I snap a glare back at him, knowing he’s hiding a smile as he sets back on his path after Yuma. “I sure hope you’re joking.”

“Or what, Viper? You’ll scratch my eyeballs out and feed them to the vultures?”

I could tell him that his eyes would make for a better feast than the other balls on his body, but that wouldn’t be ladylike. Besides, he’d probably take off on a dead run, if I did, and I’d be left hobbling alone. “Since when did you become so snarky?”

“Since you woke up and decided to be a pain in my ass today.”

“Well, I hope you packed your favorite hemorrhoid cream because I don’t intend to keep my mouth shut anytime soon. Thanks for the meat, by the way.” Asshole.

He gives another quick glance over his shoulder. “I was joking. You’re welcome.”

The forest opens up to a clearing—an unkempt yard, with a broken fence and chicken wire that the dog leaps over. Beyond it stands a log cabin, slightly worn down with age, but sturdy enough to keep standing.

Titus slows his strides, scanning the place as we approach.

Life outside of Szolen is so different.

Here, the houses are fair game for anyone, whereas at home, each of us has our own place. Our own yards and possessions. When someone trespasses, it’s reason to seek out the Mediators, the peacekeepers in our community. Out here, there’s no one to seek out. No one to keep others from taking.

And no one to keep a person from shooting at us in self-defense, either.

Knife drawn, Titus climbs the stairs to the front porch, following after Yuma, who has already disappeared inside the house. He nudges me to the side, against the wall of logs, and rests his hand against my belly, peering around the door.

A marking carved into the wall of the house draws my attention from the distraction of his hand on me, and the way his fingers curve over my waist in a possessive sort of grip. A strange symbol of overlapping circles and lines, one Titus seems to take notice of as well when he runs his thumb over it.

Finger to his lips, he signals for quiet, and once he seems to think it’s safe enough, he steps inside.

With his touch still lingering on my stomach, I follow in after him.